Poetry by the Numbers

As April draws to a close, I spent some time this afternoon crunching some numbers on the Poetry Challenge.

Here's a bit of the data:

130 students wrote 1223 poems!

41 wrote 20+ times and won a spin of the prize wheel;
21 others wrote the required 10 poems or more;
67 wrote at least one poem,
and 11 did not participate.

Overall? I'd say the month was a qualified success, and there was some amazing writing as always. The results are pretty similar to last year's group, which is pretty remarkable considering that then I had 80 writers to oversee and now it's sooooooooo many more.

One big difference is that last year, there was only a single student who never shared a single poem, and this year there were eleven.

The voices who choose not to be heard are always the ones I miss most.

Golf Clap

I ran into four of my male colleagues congratulating themselves on their performance in a student-staff football game today.

"I'm guessing you guys won?" I said.

"Sometimes you have to take the 8th graders down a peg!" one of them explained.

The others laughed.

Do you? I thought. Do you?

Would the math teacher show a student how much quicker he could solve a problem?

Would the social studies teacher feel the need to demonstrate his superior knowledge of history?

Would the IB coordinator want the students to focus on just how little they understand compared to him?

Would the assistant principal want students to exclude younger kids because they don't add anything to the group?

Since they are all very good educators, I'm guessing the answer is No.

Then why is it such a victory for a group of men to beat 13 and 14 year old boys on a football field?

Walking the Cats

When the rain cleared at about 11 this morning, we opened the windows and doors to let the late April breeze air out the house. One of our cats, Tibby, was already in the kitty stroller that I got for my birthday. Both she and Milo love to hang out in it, and so most of the time it sits in the dining room like a cat hideout on wheels.

"We should take them for a stroll!" Heidi suggested, and I knew she was right.

So I shook off the last of the gray morning and headed out into the spring sunshine to walk not just the dog, but the cats, too.

Preventative Measures

I was disappointed when I tried to get advance tickets to the last Avengers movie. Three weeks out, there were already no decent seats in any theaters at a good time for the entire opening weekend. After a little consideration, I resigned myself to seeing it the following weekend.

Well, I thought I had made peace with the situation until the press machine shifted into high gear earlier this week. After reading and hearing all about the movie, I began to regret having to wait. In desperation, I searched again for tickets, and this time miraculously hit on an empty theater at an ideal time. Feeling like I won the lottery, I snagged the third row center seats for a Saturday afternoon screening and instantly began counting the days.

For the first summer blockbuster of the year, showtimes began Thursday evening ahead of the formal Friday opening, and some of my students were there. Once the movie screened, the closely-guarded plot twists were available to anyone who wished to spoil the story, and so going to school on Friday was a perilous experience. More than once I stuffed my fingers in my ears and loudly chanted la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la. I also threatened dire consequences to any blabbermouth who might ruin the movie, and when at last we left the building at 4:30 yesterday, I was confident that my experience would be pristine.

And it was! Although some of the plot points were predictable, I never knew what was going to happen. I spent the full three hours enjoying the experience, which is fortunate, because it would have been impossible to go back to school until I'd seen the movie for myself.

Beggars and Choosers

"Can I have some candy?" a student demanded after school today.

I never comply with such impolite requests, but today with my head pounding courtesy of the Anime Club, I was even more short than usual. "No!" I snapped and returned to my work.

"Why not?" she whined.

I looked up over my glasses at her and took a deep breath. "Because it's rude to ask people for things. You should wait until I offer."

"You never offer!" she scoffed.

"You never offer anything, either," I told her.

"What can I offer?" she asked with some irritation.

"Look around," I shrugged. "Think of ways you could be helpful."

To her credit, she considered my words, and in very short time, the room was more tidy than it had been. The chairs were pushed in, stray papers and books were returned to their designated places. "How do you like it?" she asked, flourishing her arm.

"I like it!" I answered. "Would you care for a piece of candy?"

"Yes!" she replied, and then cut her eyes at me. "But, can I have two?"

"Nope," I answered.

Just then, the bell rang, but the Anime Club members lingered loudly, despite my hearty wishes of Have a good weekend! and See you later!

The student took matters into her own hands. "Anime Club!" she shouted. "Leave! Leave! Leave!"

"Gah! You don't have to be so harsh!" they grumbled as they filed out the door.

"Thank you!" I nodded at the candy kid in appreciation.  "And for that?" I continued, "You can have 2 pieces of candy!"

Oversight

No one was more surprised than I was when I walked into my classroom yesterday morning to find a total stranger peeling off my word a day calendar page. "Uhhhhhh," I stuttered. "Do I have a sub today?"

The woman looked at me brightly, but without comprehension. She continued updating my calendar. My desk was kind of a mess. I was confused. Gradually, the situation became clear to me: I had a doctors appointment which I rescheduled, but I forgot to cancel the sub. "I'm so sorry," I started when I realized my mistake.

"Don't be," the woman said before I could finish. And then she introduced herself to me as a parent of former students. She professed an abiding love for our school and all who worked there. She did not let me explain the situation.

"Um, I'll be right back," I said and headed to the office. The secretary in charge of substitutes was very understanding.

"Send her to me," she said, "and I'll put her to work."

Back in my room, students were starting to arrive. Again, I tried to apologize and explain. The substitute nodded, and continued wandering around the room, offering complimentary comments about the furnishings. The announcements came on; she sat down at a table.

The phone rang; it was the secretary. "Did you send her to the office?" she asked.

"I tried," I said quietly, "but she's not leaving."

"I'll be right there to give her the schedule," she assured me.

A minute later, she entered my room, spoke quietly to the substitute, and led her away.

I sighed in relief, and promised myself to never make that mistake again.

The Tao of Construction

I See the Positive in Every Situation

Ommmmmm

There was so much vibration right outside my window this afternoon that I felt like I was in a massaging chair. If it hadn't been for the loud whine of the steam shovel as it deposited scoop after giant scoop of gravel directly below my classroom, it might even have been a bit relaxing.

Ommmmmm

Thoroughly Modern

"I forgot to bring water!" I told Heidi as we were leaving school this afternoon on our way to the gym.

"Me, too," she answered. "And it's so expensive to buy it there."

Just then we passed the vending machine in the lobby, a fixture which is largely invisible to me even though I walk past it several times a day. I noticed a touch pad by the dollar slot, double clicked my Apple watch, and tapped it up there. In seconds I had an ice cold bottle of water.

"No way!" Heidi said. "Get me one, too!"

And then, delighted with our use of such nifty technology, we took our water and went to the gym.

Semi-Annual

I had a dentist appointment today. It was uneventful: my teeth were scaled, flossed, polished, and flourided, and my tongue and gums were examined for any suspicious activity. All was well in my mouth, and soon enough I was on my way into a lovely spring afternoon to walk back to school.

But as I rambled my thoughts did, too, and I considered the dentist's last words to me-- Enjoy the rest of the spring and have a wonderful summer! See you in the fall!-- and just like that, the soft air turned a bit chill, and I imagined the burgeoning leaves on the trees spreading wide like open hands and changing from spring green to red, yellow, and orange.

I shook it off, though. October is a long way away.

A Pocket of their Own

Every year since 2007, I have celebrated National Poem in Your Pocket Day in April with my sixth grade students, but this year we were on spring break when the big day rolled around. We are in the middle of the 100 Day Writing Challenge, though, which in April is a new poetry exercise every day, so I posted the information and asked students to tell us what poem they chose and why, a kind of virtual celebration.

To be honest, I didn't know what to expect, and so when I logged in last Thursday night to check on their progress, I was amazed and humbled by the quality of their choices and the consideration they had given to them. In fact, this group of kids did better than any other so far. Here are a few examples:

I chose the poem Kid, this is October, by Jeffrey Bean. This poem stood out to me by the word choice he uses. I liked when he said “You can swim one more time in the puddle of sun ” because that gives October coming a whole new perspective. This poem reminds me perfectly of how I felt when summer was ending and fall was coming. Finally, I liked this poem because it all flows so smoothly and just makes the poem better.

I chose a short haiku poem about forgetting the sorrows of your past and focusing on the present. This is how the poem goes:

What joy you will find
when you drop the yesterdays
and embrace today

I really like this poem because even though it is short, it has an important meaning that I think is a really good rule to live by. This poem always reminds me that I need to focus on the future and present especially, instead of living in the past. This poem has only three lines so I don’t have my top four lines, although I like that last line that says to embrace today.

I chose Caged Bird by Maya Angelou. I chose this poem because first of all I love Maya Angelou she is a strong female figure and is also black. The other reason I chose this poem is because this has a personal connection to me because this is literally the first poem I ever read, my first thought was the grammar was wrong and I LOVED it.

I chose “You Lose Something Every Day” by Willie Perdomo. The reason why I chose this poem was because at first it didn’t make sense to me but when I read it carefully I noticed that it is true. You do lose something every day even if it isn’t physical with you. I felt like this poem was trying to tell me how we also lose stuff in our mind or how we forget stuff. In this poem, something I also noticed is that each line has two important words. For example,”the finish on your way to the line” the two important words are Finish and Line and if we put it together it spells out finish line. Anyway I enjoyed understanding this poem and I really liked it.

War Within Myself by Daniel K.I chose this poem because "fighting a war within myself" is very common with people today, even me. I was diagnosed with anxiety a couple years ago, which felt like a new war had begun. Walking on eggshells relates to me because I feel like I need to say the right thing, at the right time, or else I mess it all up, which I have before. Tearing friendships apart relate to myself as well because I don't want to mess something up so badly, to the point where a beautiful friendship or relationship has ended. And I have one particular relationship that is so special to me that I don't want to end.

Glamour Boy

We threw open the doors and windows this morning to let in the spectacular spring weather. Our place is sheltered, but there is no denying the proximity of the neighbors, so I wasn't surprised to hear voices floating in through the kitchen window. The baby talk was another matter, though.

Yes! We think you're beautiful. Yes, we do. You are gorgeous!

I stopped chopping parsley and looked out, but I couldn't see who it was. The praise continued. I stepped into the dining room. "Is someone talking to one of our pets?" I asked Heidi, who was reading on the couch with a view of the front door. 

She grinned and nodded. 

"Who are they talking to?" 

"Milo!" she told me, "and he is just sitting there loving it!"

Journeys

Air travel gives lie to the aphorism about journeys and destinations: it's rare that I step on a plane without looking forward to disembarking. Having flown back and forth from the Twin Cities twice in the last few weeks, I have become quite a fan of those little inflight entertainment screens. There is nothing like watching a trashy movie to wile away the flight time.

Plugging in my earbuds and settling back as the opening credits roll on a movie that Heidi and I have chosen to skip reminds me a little bit of the bygone days of air travel when a single movie was screened for all. Back then, when we lived overseas, any movie they happened to show was new to us, and I was often riveted by films I never would have paid to see. Those movies, not a single one of which I can recall at the moment, also helped pass the time away until we landed and resumed our lives.

Tonight, my choice was The Notebook, a 2004 film that almost everyone except me has seen. Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling were beautiful babies in their 20s back then, and the tale of Ally and Noah was engaging in its melodrama. I was actually happy that our flight time was longer than scheduled, because I got so close to the ending before my screen went dark. By then, it was James Garner and Gena Rowland whose fate was in the balance, but I still came home and Netflixed those last 12 minutes, and it was with a tear in my eye for all the journeys that ended tonight that I sat down and began to write.

Pescacheegan

noun: 1. One who eats a primarily plant-based diet, but makes exceptions for fish and CHEESE! 2. Heidi

Pink and Brown

"There's our new Dunkin Donuts," my mom pointed out to me a couple of weeks ago when i was visiting. Two squat earth tone cubes adorned with bright pink and orange Ds occupied the corner to our right. "It's big news around here."

She was right, because on the way from the airport the other day, her friend remarked on the place as well. "Have you seen our new Dunkin Donuts?"

"It's just called Dunkin now," Heidi replied with information I was totally unaware of.

To be honest, I was considering the last time I had been in a Dunkin Donut. It had been a while, but I did remember the first time I was in one.

The chain came to our New Jersey area when I was 8 or so. The nearest one was about 20 minutes away, but located near the station of the High Speed Line train that my dad sometimes took to work. If he was running too late to catch the bus in the morning, my mom would throw us in the car to drop him off, and our reward was sometimes a trip to Dunkin Donuts.

We always got the same thing-- peanut donuts, which were a novelty back in those days of jelly, glazed, or powdered. And if my dad needed a ride from the station at night? Well, Baskin Robbins was right there, too. 

Spring Forward

Tan patches of unmelted snow dotted still barren farm fields like sand traps on a huge brown golf course as we drove south to Rochester on Minnesota 52 this morning, but by 11:30 the April sun was strong enough to make sitting on the sheltered terrace almost too warm. Fortunately we had frappucino, iced tea, and sun glasses to help us enjoy our hour in the sun before heading back indoors for most of the afternoon. But it was still close to 70 degrees when we emerged at 6 PM, and the lingering daylight of the north held the evening shadows at bay until after we arrived safely back at home after a long, but not unpleasant, day.

Priority Passenger

Just two weeks ago I landed at Minneapolis-St. Paul International airport as the Twin Cities were gearing up for the Final Four Finale, and it was kind of a crazy scene. Things were considerable calmer here this afternoon, dead almost, and as Heidi and I hiked from Terminal G to the baggage claim, I was hopeful that we would be out on the curb, in the car, and on the way to my mom's in no time.

The gathering crowds circling the carousels should have warned me otherwise, but it took a good ten minutes before we discovered that Air Force One was on the tarmac with the chief aboard, and that meant that all ramp traffic was on hold. Our baggage would not be on its way until President Trump was on his way to a campaign rally celebrating tax day.

In an attempt to keep informed about a situation where I was powerless, I turned to Twitter. President Trump, will you please hurry up and get out of Minneapolis airport so we can board our plane to go home? pleaded Diane.

Finally, a reporter on the plane tweeted that the TV coverage of the fire in Notre Dame had captured the president's attention, but that he had disembarked. A little while later the harsh triple honk of a conveyer belt being activated drifted down the cavernous baggage claim, stranded travelers jumped to their feet, and we knew it wouldn't be long before we would be on our way.

Wardrobe Change

Many of my friends and colleagues are headed south and west to warmer weather for spring break this week. We are headed north to Minnesota for a visit with my mom. And to tell you the truth? The weather here has been pretty mild the last couple of days, and after seeing myself in shorts-- another week of cool weather might not be too bad!

Safe travels to all!

Check that Box

A tall woman stood on the bench of a picnic table addressing a gathering of perhaps 70 people. Sunlight filtered through gray clouds and tiny new oak leaves, warming the muggy air. I was not uncomfortable in my t-shirt and flannel, but I wished I had my sunglasses for the shade they might have provided.

We were attending the annual opening meeting of our community garden, an event I have come to dread for reasons that are not entirely clear to me. Personally, I appreciate an informal structure, so it wasn't the loose circle that the assembled gardeners formed that bothered me.

Committee chairs stood where they were to deliver their reports, which worked for me, attentively standing near the center of the group, but not for those who chose to sit on the outer picnic benches. They shouted, "Can't hear you!" at every speaker, forcing them to repeat their remarks in strained voices.

There was also the standard litany of don'ts, although this year, the rules were definitely phrased more positively, and I liked hearing what I should do, rather than what I shouldn't. Finally, the meeting devolved to gripes and snipes-- members wondering why everyone else couldn't do things their way and others explaining that their way was actually much better.

It was at that point that the head gardener recalled the assembly to order. "And now it's time for everyone's favorite part of this day!" she said. "We get to work together to get the garden ready for a new season!"

Enjoy it while it Lasts!

Most of the honorees left the school board meeting during the break after the service award ceremony last night, which may have been by design since the board's main order of business was to approve the budget for next year. With a several million dollar shortfall, they were scrambling to cut line items, and one of the casualties?

Service award ceremonies.

The Grain of Salt

Tonight was the service award ceremony at the school board. Heidi and I and our friend Mary were all being recognized for 25 years of teaching, so we, along with three of our colleagues, made plans to attend the reception and the recognition that followed. It was not a well-planned event: the school board and the superintendent skipped the reception, they ran out of food, there was some confusion as to gifts and years.

It was still kind of fun, though, partially because 25 years of anything is pretty impressive, but mostly because of the company. After 25 years, I knew quite a few folks in the crowd, including both 40 year employees and three school board members whose children I had taught. Even so, it was our group that was really the most entertaining.

"Gee, I don't remember any of these people from that new hire orientation!" Mary said when we first walked in.

Ellis Island Redux

"My last name is going to change soon," one of my students confided in me.

"Really?" I asked. "How come?"

"It's my grandfather's name!" she explained. "So my sister and I have different last names even though we have the same mom and dad," she scoffed.

I knew a bit about her culture. "So, your dad's last name is your grandfather's first name, right?"

"Yeah," she said. "And that's the last name they gave me here, but it's not right."

"Because your last name is really your dad's first name?" I replied.

"Yes," she sighed. "America just messed up a little."

Community and Service

We had a modified schedule today so that the sixth graders could go to presentations by the 8th graders about their IB community projects. In general it is a good activity for all-- the older students get to explain their work to a relatively low stakes audience, and the younger kids get a glimpse at what they will have to plan and accomplish in a couple short years.

We worked in homeroom groups to prepare our sixth graders for their part in the activity, and one of the exercises that they completed was to identify a need and propose a hypothetical project for themselves. Some students took it more seriously than others, but at this stage it was the process that mattered, and I was content to guide them as they worked on their ideas, whatever those were.

Our little homeroom crew has bonded lately, too, so it was fun to work for a couple of hours with the 14 of them, especially since we found time to play music, sing, and eat the candy "eggs" that my musical plastic chicken lays. That might be why I wasn't surprised when 2 of the guys told me that their project was going to be to, "Beautify the school with jelly beans and ukuleles."

Now that is service I can support!

The Grillmaster

I have a colleague who let me know late last year that he

is

the

Grillmaster.

I have a passing acquaintance with cooking and outdoor cooking myself, and so we have bonded over rub recipes and wood chip choices. Some weeks ago, he brought in the last shreds of a pork shoulder he had smoked, and it was delicious. "I have an idea," he told me then. "We should have a team lunch. A potluck. I'll bring the barbecue and the rest of y'all can bring the sides."

As team leader, I put it on the agenda for our next meeting, and soon it was settled. Our lunch had to be on a Monday to allow the Grillmaster to work his magic over the weekend, and looking at our calendar, our first free Monday was

today!

That's how there came to be a Southern picnic spread out on tables we pushed together in my classroom. Heirloom apple sauce, baked beans, cole slaw, potato salad, iced tea, lemonade, and homemade three berry pie accompanied a pulled pork shoulder and barbecue spare ribs.

We invited several colleagues to join us for our feast, and they enjoyed the food for sure, but our assistant principal put it best when she sat down at our table wit a full plate. "It's a good day to be a Dolphin!"

Crooked

This is the image that Good Morning America chose for their online piece about Notre Dame women's basketball coach Muffet Mcgraw's decision to only hire women for coaching staff.

In her remarks cited in the article, McGraw defends her choice with several well-supported points about the inequities facing women in athletics and in the general workplace. But the photo? Makes her look strident and angry, undercutting the rational nature of McGraw's argument and decision.

The fact that a mainstream media outlet feels free to commit such a microaggression against a woman underscores McGraw's point that the playing field is far from level.

Tuning In

I've noticed that most medical waiting rooms are outfitted with TVs, which are usually tuned to either HGTV or the Food Channel. I don't mind it-- it helps to pass the time away when I'm either waiting for an appointment or procedure for myself or whomever I'm with. Those channels are pretty quick release: easy to engage and disengage with as necessary. Until recently, I thought that was the only purpose for that particular programming.

Here at the Mayo Clinic, which is widely recognized as one of the top health care facilities in the world, they have no such thing. Patients and their supporters linger quietly in spacious waiting areas adorned with fine art, and magazines and jigsaw puzzles spread out on round tables. In the atrium of the Gonda building there is a baby grand piano that anyone may play. A mile away, on the older St, Mary's campus, the spaces are not quite as grand, but the art is pleasant, and there are no televisions for we who wait.

Early yesterday, my mom and I sat side by side in one such waiting area. With 89 miles between the clinic and her home, we have given ourselves a lot of cushion when it comes to travel time on our three round trips down here this week. As we waited more than hour for her name to be called, I quickly exhausted all my means of entertainment, and tuned my phone to The Today Show. We leaned together and watched for a few minutes, until the wifi speed let us down.

Even so, for that brief amount of time, I felt connected to a world outside of the place we were stuck right then, and my spirits rose.

Take note, Mayo.

Respect the Boundaries

As I stepped onto the elevator to go to my hotel room after an unexpectedly long day, I heard someone shout, "Wait!"

Two boys of perhaps eleven or twelve were already in the car when I boarded, and they obligingly held the door for a women and another kid around their age.

I had pressed 8, the boys had 9, and the women asked for 2. On our short journey up, one of the boys said to the other, "We have to go to eleven to get my shoes, then we can go to your room to--"

The women shook her head. "You all are so bad!" she scolded them.

"What??" they looked at her innocently.

"Well for starters, the last time we were on here together, you pushed all the buttons."

They laughed. The elevator dinged. The lady and the kid with her got off.

"Should we?" one of the remaining boys said to the other.

I eyed them, levelly. "If you do? I'll kick you!" I told them.

"What?" said the kid by the buttons.

"Well," I amended, "I'll kick you," I looked at the shoeless one next to him, "but I'll stomp on your toes."

They gasped, then giggled. The elevator dinged again, and we were on my floor.

"Now, you can press any button you want!" I told them.

"Really?" asked one.

Sure," I shrugged, "I'm not going be on here."

His fingers ran up and down the column of buttons, illuminating each and every one. "Have a nice day!" he called after me as I stepped off. "I mean, have a nice rest of your day!"

And the funny thing was, I knew he really meant it.

Indelible

There are some inexplicably unforgettable moments in my life, memories of small things that happened decades ago, and yet they return to me again and again.

One of them is a time in early 1974. I needed fabric for a home ec project in school. We were making simple drawstring bags, just a rectangle of material, with a big square pocket sewn on, then folded in half inside out, stitched up the sides, a folded seam on top, and a drawstring threaded through. It was a classic intro to the sewing machine for young girls.

My difficulty with the project is perhaps a story for another day, but this memory involves my mother and me going out into the dark of a wintery Sunday night to get the supplies I needed. I'm not sure where the fabric store was in relation to our house, but it seems like the trip was longer than a usual errand. Maybe it was because it was only me and my mom, which was also out of the ordinary, rarely did we go places without my younger brother and sister along.

I remember sitting in the front seat, and listening to the radio tuned to Casey Kasem's American Top 40, and not wanting to miss any of the countdown when we went into the store. I also remember the material we bought. It was a thin wale off-white corduroy with big yellow and blue flowers on it, perfect for the 70s, and I loved it. Back in the car, we drove home as the countdown continued. I'm sure we sang along, but I have no memory of the specific songs.

45 years later, it's still unusual for me to spend one on one time with my mom. Our family is very close emotionally, but not all of us geographically, and where two gather, the rest are often drawn. This week, though, my mom and I have spent lots time together, and plenty of it in the car. Today on an errand of a different kind,  Casey wasn't counting them down, but we did tune in to a station that played hits from the 70s, and we sang along as the miles rolled past.

Play it Again

Sometimes when I am watching recorded TV I forget that I can skip the commercials. The ads just kind of wash over me, as they have for most of my life: some are more engaging than others; none actually make me want to buy anything.

Occasionally, there will be a commercial that will date the original broadcast and fix it in a particular time, which is definitely not when I am watching it. At such times I experience a slight sense of being in two times at once, a milder version of the cognitive dissonance I imagine a real time traveler might feel.

Scenes of news or weather events in the past, holidays, and seasons gone by make me consider where I was and what was happening in my life when the recording first aired and what has changed since then. And for a moment I am lost, until the bittersweet tang of nostalgia slaps me to my senses and I hit fast forward, catapulting myself back to the present.

Uff Da

Minnesota is well known for the pleasant public nature of its denizens, but last night at the airport the "Minnesota Nice" was fraying a little bit. The addition of spring break and NCAA final four travel to the regular traffic at MSP flooded the curbsides of the arrivals area with weary travelers and harried drivers struggling to connect, load up, and head out.

That's where I found myself in the dusky late evening. Standing on tip toe, I jostled for position and scanned four lanes of braiding traffic for one dark gray Toyota with my mother at the wheel. Twice I grabbed my bag and dashed toward some promising sedan, only to be disappointed. As for my mom, she had to loop around twice, because it was so hard to spot me in the crowd.

As I waited, I witnessed many rushed reunions, and if anyone lingered a little too long in the loading lane, someone on the curb would grumble. Once, I even heard an open gripe and the beep of a horn, but just once.

The Window Seat

As I looked out the tiny portal of my window seat, other jets sped through the cold blue like toys. At 36,000 feet the air temperature was 81 below, and Ohio spread out below me like a lumpy gray quilt shot through with shiny threads of rivers. We were heading northwest, and every time I looked away from the window the cabin was bronze and dusky until my eyes adjusted from the sun to the plain gloom of the plane. Even so, after a lifetime of flying, I couldn’t look away: there was literally too much to see.